


in all these broken windows, through the bruises and the scars

by bobbismrses



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post Season 2/Pre Season 3, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, aka the time jump we've been unfairly deprived of, blood mention, i wanted to see them build back their relationship ok, just even through flashbacks i'm not picky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbismrses/pseuds/bobbismrses
Summary: Closure.She's never thought she'd ever be back here, seeking exactly that.(or the one where Lance and Bobbi go back to where she got shot.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, this fic has been a real pain in my ass to write and it took me way more time than it should have, but I've always wanted to write a recovery fic so here it is!
> 
> This take place about a month before season three, so basically five months after it all happened.
> 
> Fic title taken from "400 miles" by The Rumjacks. The original lyric is actually "In all these broken windows, through the tattoos and the scars" but I've changed it a tiny bit to make more fitting.

_Aranda De Duero, Spain._

Closure.

She's never thought she'd ever be back here, seeking exactly that.

They've been parked outside the building for hours now, long enough to see the sky turn from a dazzling blue to a murky gray and for Lance to make at least three comments on how they've never stayed in a car for so long before without making things more _interesting._

Anything to crack a smile on her face and see the way her eyes lighten up and crinkle into crescent moons with laughter; it always sends thousands of butterflies rising up in the pit of his stomach.

“Take all the time you need, love,” Lance says as he reaches for her thigh and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Bobbi nods, absentmindedly slotting their fingers together and she mentally chides herself for letting this affect her so much. 

She feels small and she hates it.

"Alright, let's do this," she quips with a half-smile as she tries to force confidence into her expression. She can taste fear in her mouth, rising high and wild, making it almost impossible to breathe.

“Wait,” Lance frowns and Bobbi casts him a questioningly look, throat too tight with nerves to speak, “you've got something over here,” he says as he leans forwards and captures her lips in a gentle kiss. 

“You're an idiot,” Bobbi splutters out around a giggle when he pulls away, and at this moment, the butterflies inside him go berserk.

“You don't have to do this, Bob,” he says after a while, voice whisper-soft and his tone no longer holding that teasing light. Bobbi shrugs, eyes brightening with the telltale signs of tears "But, I do."

"Garner's a dick," he sighs as he slumps back into his seat, and Bobbi snorts.

"Garner's right. That's what I need," she counters half-heartedly as she lays the flat of her palm over his chest, the steady flutter of his heartbeat beneath her hand enough to steel herself. "I think," she adds as an afterthought.

"But what if – what if things worse? The nightmares and panic attacks and all this shit you're going through. What if _you_ get worse?" he asks, swallowing hard around the thick knot in his throat.

“Wanna opt out? I mean, that's true, you still have your bunk,” she smirks, deliberately testing the waters and Lance tenses up, the idea of leaving her to deal with all this alone making his heart twinge.

Only days after she got cleared out of medbay, Lance practically moved into her bunk. It's easier for them both, waking up without the other gives too much reality to their nightmares.

“What? No, Bob, that's not what I meant,” he blurs out, rushing the words, his cheeks flushing pink at the misunderstanding.

“Hey. I know,” she reassures firmly and Lance exhales deeply through his nose, all the sudden tension bleeding out of him. “We should get going, I wanna be in there before dark,” she affirms, looking up and scanning the cotton-cloudy sky through the window. 

She has her reasons.

–

Bobbi blinks and suddenly she's back in that godawful warehouse, standing at the end of that corridor she's painfully familiar with and she feels like the walls are closing in on her. 

_“Bobbi? Bob? I'm coming to find you, Bobbi.”_

That's what haunts her the most; the powerlessness. She remembers it all, from the little tremors lacing his words as he desperately called her name to his footsteps echoing like gunfires in her head as he kept getting closer and closer and closer. 

She's dragged out of this train of thoughts when she feels Lance's hand slightly twitch in hers. “I couldn't stop it,” he mutters, almost to himself and a shiver runs down her spine when she sees the faraway look in his eyes.

“Lance, hey, look at me,” she urges, cupping his face in her hands, and his shoulders visibly relax at her touch. 

“You just kept on bleeding and I couldn't stop it,” he goes on, voice raw and croaky, as he shrugs his shoulders, almost apologetically. Bobbi's eyelids flutter shut. A single tear runs down her cheek, but she quickly wipes it away.

She opens her eyes again and they instantly fall on the gun tightly clutched in his hand, safety off, fingers nervously hovering over the trigger. "You brought your gun," she says, stating the obvious, and he nods his head slightly. 

"Dammit, you should wait for me in the car, I've been stupid, I didn't think-"

"No, we're doing this together, remember?" he cuts her off, voice firm and regaining some steadiness, and that glassy haze gone from his look. “It's just a safety measure, alright?”

“Alright, but,” she starts, slowly reaching out her hand for the gun in his hand, fingers purposely grazing over his skin, before switching off the safety, “safety stays off," she warns, voice holding enough firmness to make him understand that it isn't up for discussion. 

They keep walking, unsure steps, wild eyes, tensed shoulders, and then, they come to a stop.

Bobbi's mouth runs dry and acrid as she stares down at the arc of dried blood sprayed on the door in front of her, _her_ blood. Lance immediately turns around and braces his palms on the wall, head down between his arms, as he tries to fight down the rising nausea. 

He can't bring himself to watch, not again, never again.

Bobbi wraps her hand around the doorknob, reluctantly twisting it, before pushing the door open. And suddenly, all the air stutters out of her lungs, she feels like the world's tilting on its axis and she's tumbling with it.

The chair's still here, the rifle's gone, though, but all the memories that go with it are eternally embedded in these walls.

"Bob?" Lance calls softly, brows creased with worry. With time he's learnt to pick up some signs, he can feel the distress exuding from her even with her back turned to him.

As soon as he utters out the single syllable of her name, Bobbi turns around and throws herself at him, arms fastened around his neck. Lance wraps his arm around her head and holds her there. “I've got you, love, I've got you,” he murmurs in her hair, forcing himself to remain calm and collected for her sake as he stares at the room ahead of him.

There are soft lips, familiar lips, skimming over her temple and calloused hands on her skin. She tries to focus on that, and for a few blissful seconds, she's home.

She pulls back from his arms, wet tracks on her cheeks, and absently toys with the zipper of his leather jacket.

Lance hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her head up, forcing her to look into her his eyes. "No one will blame you if you stop there, _no one,_ " he insists, weighing his words, from first to last, as he brushes his thumb across her wobbly bottom lip.

"I will," she admits. 

This is her way of fighting back, of gaining back some control over this godforsaken mess. There's no gun to her head, no hungry ropes around her wrists biting the hell out of her skin, no heavy gag on her tongue. She's walking in there of her own free will, and this is the biggest _fuck you_ she can give right now, to Ward, to herself, to the damn universe.

Bobbi walks inside first, eyes darting quickly across the room, mostly out of habit than anything else. She glances at Lance fleetly, a faint smile on her lips, she can _hear_ the apprehension in his movements. She finds so much comfort in knowing him here with her, or anywhere else, truthfully.

There's blood here, as well. Lots of it. Most of it. Sometimes Lance can still feel her slick, hot blood caressing his features in the most deadly way.

"Shit," he mutters as he roughly scrubs a hand down his face to wipe away his tears and stares at a damp patch on the ceiling through tears-blinded eyes instead. 

Bobbi is lost in the throes of her own hell, muscles and nerves jerking taut, as she stands there, boring holes into the chair in front of her. She spent torturous hours trapped in that damn thing, trying to fight back sleep no matter how soothing and appealing it seemed back then. It was hell, sweat and blood, pain and tears.

"What he did to me," she grits out, angry tears trickling down her cheeks, as she keeps her gaze fixated on the chair in front of her, "I didn't deserve it," she breathes out as if the realisation just hit her.

Lance's chest constricts but he doesn't say anything, he knows these words aren't meant for any other audience than herself. 

"Fuck," she screams brokenly as she reaches down and grabs the arms of the chair before sending it flying through the air to smash against a wall. It helps relieve some of the bubbling anger inside her, but she needs more; she needs to punch and kick and scream until all she can feel is sheer numbness.

She collapses on the ground in a fit of rage and tears, nails digging into her thigh when her wrong knee scream in protest. “Lance,” she calls through sobs, words barely above a whisper, but to him, it's crystal clear. 

He's crouching by her side in a heartbeat, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug and his head dropping down to the crook of her neck. “I'm proud of you, Bob, so proud,” he whispers against her skin and he's never meant these words more before than he does today. 

"Get me out of here, Lance" she pleads as she lets her head fall back onto his shoulder, voice a croak, and she hates how choked up she sounds. 

"You got it, sweetheart."

And he carries her out of here in his arms, for the second time, now.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is VERY™ appreciated (please love me is what I actually mean.)
> 
> thank you, guys, for reading this far<3


End file.
